The Gun
by Indubitably Cynical
Summary: After Jack's sermon, Erica and Hobbes drive back to meet their new teammates. They get a little sidetracked. No real plot.


For the duration of the car ride back to his basement, Hobbes tossed around a few nasty things to say in his head, something to get Erica riled up. There was nothing particularly clever coming to him, unfortunately, nothing that she wouldn't see through immediately, and they were only another two minutes from the underground parking garage where he kept his car.

He decided to try a different tactic, when he realized that he just wasn't going to be doing any successful verbal sparring tonight.

"Have you ever considered making your thigh holster a more constant part of your wardrobe?"

"I'm not having sex with you tonight, Kyle."

Laughing quietly, he inched his right hand off the steering wheel. "It wouldn't have mattered what I said, then?" And he put his hand on her knee, where he could feel the gun strapped to her leg.

She closed her eyes and her lips parted slightly, and as always the knowledge that his hand could affect this seemingly untouchable woman sent a mild thrill to his groin.

"I was just thinking that this time we could skip the part where we waste time shouting at each other." He moved past the holster to the inside of her thigh, reaching up her skirt and waiting for her to shove him away.

"Keep driving," she muttered, even as her legs parted unconsciously and her eyes remained firmly fixed ahead.

"I'm perfectly capable of multi-tasking." Although he allowed his hand to linger where it was for now, confident that its mere presence was convincing enough, at least where the two of them were concerned.

"I thought I made it clear that we weren't going to do this anymore." She shifted so his hand was actually closer to her crotch, and he silently cursed the people who thought it hot when women said no and meant yes.

"And then you decided to strap a weapon to your goddamn thigh right in front of me." He turned into the ramp that led underground. "Do you know how close I was to telling the priest to leave?" At that, he finally moved his hand upward and came into contact with her underwear. Her thigh actually trembled at his touch, and he smirked.

He parked the car with only one hand on the wheel. "I've been thinking about fucking you since then. For hours." He turned off the engine and palmed her through her underwear. He watched her bite her lip. "Of course I'm always thinking about it anyway." The fabric of her panties was hot and damp. "Tell me to stop," he said huskily. "Go on. You say the word and we'll go inside and wait a day, or two, or however long it takes until you _can't stand it_."

Finally, her eyes snapped open and she looked at him. He could tell that she had just made a decision, was finished with the pretense that she didn't love what they did as much as he did. It was like she had flipped a switch and become suddenly enthusiastic and playful about what he was doing. "So guns turn you on, then?" She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

He could actually feel her gun on the outside of his leg as his hands instinctively went to cup her rear. "Your legs turn me on," he whispered, inches from her mouth. But he would never kiss her. That would cross the line.

Instead, he hiked her skirt up to her waist and wedged his hand between them, sliding it into her underwear. His fingers encountered a shocking amount of slickness, and her sharp exhale went straight to his stirring cock. "So you _do_ get horny without being pissed."

"Who says I'm not pissed?"

"What did I do this time?" He moved his fingers, pushing two of them gently into her, and she pressed against him, instinctively seeking more as her eyes darkened with arousal.

"You're a terrorist and you-" her hand gripped his shoulder as her neck arched, "you just-you assume you can-"

He brushed his thumb teasingly over her swollen clit and her hips bucked into his. "That I can what, pray tell?" The sounds of his fingers moving within her drifted through the silent car. "Reduce you to a writhing, screaming bitch in heat?"

She finally moaned at that, and a flood of wetness drenched his hand. That did it for him; he realized he was hard as a rock, and that a long night's thinking about the _gun_ on her _thigh_ was finally catching up to him.

"What about-you?" she shot back, her voice becoming breathy and slightly more high-pitched than usual. Her hand dropped to his crotch and palmed his now rather prominent erection through his jeans. "You just can't control yourself-when it comes to women." Her hips began to take up that tell-tale pattern, slowly at first.

"It's just you," he growled, allowing the movements of his fingers to speed up and drawing her clit in tight, hard circles. "Since the first time you pointed a gun at me."

Now she was riding his hand shamelessly, holding onto the seat behind him with one hand and rubbing at his crotch with the other. Her breathing was coming hard and fast and sexy, brushing his cheek. He could feel her muscles tightening around his fingers, and she was close.

"Kyle-" and it sounded almost like a warning, "I'm-I'm-"

"Yeah?" he said, although he knew very well, had seen her like this countless times over the past two weeks.

"I'm gonna-I-"

"Believe me, I know." And he withdrew his hand, relishing how wet it was, and the fierceness of her glare made him wonder if he should fear for his life.

"You son of a bitch," she growled, before letting out a little shriek as he pushed her off of him, into the passenger seat. He adjusted, leaned over, spread her legs. Began kissing his way up her inner thigh. Trying to ignore the gun for the sake of his own sanity.

"It'll be better." He slid his hands under her ass and pulled her hips closer to him.

"Seriously, you're a jack-ass, you're-oh _God!_" as his mouth finally reached its destination. He nuzzled her through her soaked underwear before pulled it to the side so his tongue could have access to her clit.

She tasted so, so good, and his cock throbbed in reminder that he needed her, after this. More so than usual. He licked, sucked, carefully, and she made a desperate, overwhelmingly erotic noise every time his tongue moved.

"Fucking-Kyle-" she moaned incoherently, and he loved the sound of his name on her lips when she was about to fall over the edge. A breathless whine escaped her, and then another one, and then her hips were bucking into his face, her hands threading through his hair and yanking as her nails clawed into his scalp.

He lapped at her clit, flicking it rapidly, and then she was coming, violently, crying out with each spasm that he could feel shaking her body. She came all over his mouth and the taste of it, the feel of it, made him moan in appreciation. Knowing that he could render such a powerful woman this helpless was a huge ego trip, and damn if it didn't turn him on.

Withdrawing from between her legs, he sat back on his feet and just _looked_ at her. Eyes closed, breathing rushed, hands on her legs shaking. Damp hair spread out on the seat. Gun still strapped to her thigh.

In an instant he realized that he hated her. He hated how looking at her made his breath catch in his throat, how his raw, almost compulsive need for her made him so dependent. He hated how, after years and years of fucking twentysomethings, a woman of forty had turned him into this.

"I think I blacked out," she whispered after a moment, sounding a little stoned.

"Is that so?" he replied, snapping out of his daze.

She sat up, smiling lazily, her legs remaining spread haphazardly. Her face magnificently flushed in post-orgasmic glow. "I refuse to inflate your ego any more than I already have," she told him, before her eyes darted south to where he was very clearly aroused. "Do we need to take care of you?"

"Let's go inside," he rasped, moving to open the door.

"Aren't there the people from the church in there waiting for us?"

"We can stay upstairs."

They left the car and headed toward the entrance of the hideout. His hand found its way to her waist and she stiffened before looking at him, eyes confused. He squeezed slightly, to make playful what in hindsight might have been far too affectionate.

Once they entered, he grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the door without a word and just looked at her, again. She gazed back, and he spotted a hint of fear in her eyes buried with all the intensity. He almost moaned, just at how much he wanted her.

"What are you afraid of?" he broke the silence.

"I'm not."

He didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to press the issue. He was too hard, too impatient. He fully slammed her against the door, hands on her hips and pelvis flush against her.

"Do you feel that?" he growled in her ear.

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes." He was shocked at how quickly she seemed to be turned on again.

"That's what you and your gun do to me." As he spoke, he hiked her skirt up with some amount of violence, brushing against the gun on her bare leg. "That's what thinking about you, touching you, watching you come...that's what it all does to me."

"Fuck me," she whimpered. "Please, just-just fuck me."

He unzipped his jeans, pulled off her underwear. Finally. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his torso. He was so hard it was painful, and she was apparently insatiable.

"How badly do you want it?" he said in her ear, pressing against her but not penetrating her yet.

She tried to impale herself on him, but his grip on her was too powerful. "You _know_ how badly," she hissed.

He found himself quite unable to hold back any longer, and gave her what she wanted. She cried out as he slammed into her, her legs instantly pressing together at his waist. He wondered if people downstairs heard, and barely cared.

From there on out, he fucked her furiously, driving her body into the metal surface of the door. His teeth sank into where her shoulder and neck met, her fingers pressed into his back until she would leave bruises. One of his hands came up to her jaw, her throat, and cupped it dangerously, and through the fog of sex he wondered where this aggression was coming from.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as he clearly hit _something_, her breath catching. "Yes," she whispered. "Oh God, right there-"

Pulling his mouth away form her neck so he could look into her eyes again, he almost gasped at how they flickered with lust. He froze in his movements for a moment, traced his hands up her body, her stomach, her breasts, her shoulders, all covered with her cobalt blouse, and suddenly he knew, even in the midst of fucking her, that this wouldn't be enough. He would need her again. And again, naked, under him, uninhibited, unrestricted.

Her hips slammed forward into his impatiently, and he growled and resumed his rhythm. His right hand dove between them, found her clit, and his muscle memory guided him in the way he touched her. In minutes, she was coming again, muscles tightening around his cock and bringing him off as well. His hand gripped the door's frame as he experienced the most intense orgasm of his life, white fire rolling over his body and forcing a primal growl from his throat.

They extricated themselves from each other somewhat awkwardly, as he felt that his shirt was stuck to his torso from perspiration.

"No more," she said firmly, adjusting her skirt and leaning back against the door. "We-we need to stop this."

"Of course we do."

"I'm serious."

He laughed and zipped his jeans. "I'll stop if you stop."

She looked like a woman who had just had mind-blowing sex, and he couldn't believe they were about to go meet new resistance members from the church who had, in all likelihood, just listened to them fornicating.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" he said suddenly as they headed down the stairs to the basement.

"Did what?"

"The gun. On your thigh. In front of me."

"Jesus Christ, it's just a fucking gun."

"So that's a yes?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

He smiled at her.


End file.
